037: Not Suitable for Close-Quarters Combat

The shopkeeper took the "Gambler" from John. He first placed it into a professional instrument for a round of scanning and cutting tests before providing the katana with a full maintenance service.

"The custom materials from Raqi Industries are truly top-tier; not a single nick or bend to be found," the owner remarked with admiration, then scanned John’s physique. "But I don't recommend you use it."

High-end monomolecular katanas might sound cool, but in street combat, they are more like stylish accessories. Even the little punks who just got beaten up by a drunk know how to pull a trigger, and for a bit of cash, one can easily buy a firearm equipped with rocket-propelled bullets. The barrier to entry for melee weapons is simply too high for the average person.

Yet, they have their reasons for existing. First, ammunition is a finite resource. Second, certain cybernetic augmentations are built specifically for close-quarters combat, such as synaptic accelerators, alloy skeletons, and operating systems that enhance mobility and reaction speed. Bullets might fail to pierce heavy armor, but a blade forged from high-polymer materials, driven hard into joints and muscle connection points, can finish off an opponent beyond the help of even the best ripperdoc.

Ghouls and certain gang members are fanatics of melee combat; they love rushing into someone’s face to hack away, as if the sight of flying brains brings them some perverse pleasure. In recent years, prosthetic arm attachments have become a black-market trend. They love installing pop-up blades that look flashy when snapped out during a street brawl. The police department issues arrest warrants daily for these depraved individuals who enjoy dismemberment, but it hasn't curbed the illegal modifications—if anything, it has fueled the trend.

John agreed with their assessment. Without the proper cybernetics at this stage, using a gun was the safest bet.

"But you should keep it as a backup. Melee combat chips are hot commodities; every street rookie who makes a name for themselves wants one," the burly Black man said frankly. "I know the market better than anyone. These chips rotate stock every three to five days; there's no telling what I'll get next time. It’s wisest to buy now while there’s good gear available."

"What’s your recommendation?"

"This katana can be fitted with neurotoxins and a new grip with power-assist. As long as you aren't facing corporate thugs in high-density alloys, cutting through street punks will be no different than slicing vegetables." He leaned in closer. "Don't be an idiot and use it to cut fruit. Keep the solvent handy—if you accidentally cut yourself, inject the antidote immediately."

[Module: Neurotoxin, Assisted Grip]

The owner picked several chips from a box—all rare blade-fighting techniques seldom seen on the black market. Once slotted and loaded, with a bit of practice, one could become an instant master of the blade.

[Action recording, coordination calibration, retry, loading complete.]

Text flickered before John's eyes. He pulled the chip out and noticed the copper contact was scorched black. The "Blacklight" seemed to have violently translated the data, imprinting all the information directly into his brain.

"Any issues? I made sure to scrub them for viruses."

Seeing John's strange expression, the owner reached out to take the chip back, intending to check it on a terminal.

"No problem, I'll take them all."

John tucked the spent chips into the lining of his bulletproof vest and paid, his account balance hitting zero in the blink of an eye—a lingering, painful sensation. "I really don't think before I spend. Shit, I just got back on my feet and I've pissed it all away."

"Hahaha, I’m jealous. Must be nice to be a young man without a care."

Makao led him back to the Bandage Boxing Gym, intending to teach him a few more things. John suddenly froze.

[Scan detected, hacking attempt, target has aborted.]

John stood in the mall corridor, leaning against a concrete railing and looking around before spotting a camera under a sign diagonally across from him. His cybernetic eyes flickered; under the scanning filter, he could see a red data stream—indicating a hacker was trying to intrude via a remote device. The intruder made no further moves.

"Someone’s tailing me. I have to go, man." John briefly explained the situation.

Makao insisted on taking him back to the gym: "The perimeter of the Borago Club is also Black Gold Gang territory. I’ll talk to the manager and see if we can find out who’s messing with you. You can’t just go out alone; that’s just asking to get blindsided."

"Uh, right. I’m used to being a lone wolf; I didn't think of that."

John followed him back to the gym quickly. Upon entering, he found the place packed. Below the ring, spectators were crowded, and even Gino was sitting on a pull-up bar watching from afar. A free-form fight was underway on the ring. Once John saw the identity of one of the combatants, he let out a curse.

[Name: Aiden Wertz]
[Affiliation: Haven Corp]
[Scan: Alloy skeleton, subcutaneous armor, etc.]
[Bounty: Cancelled]
[File: Core member of Germany’s Remer syndicate, unmarried, retired Lieutenant Colonel from the Eden City Independence War (Special Intelligence Bureau file), dog tag number deleted, external liaison for the Special Operations Unit...]

Aiden landed a single step-in punch. The two-meter-tall muscular giant across the ring collapsed straight onto the edge, his cybernetic eyes flickering, his mouthguard sent flying.

"Fuck, who the hell is this, beating the best fighter in my gym like he’s nothing?" Makao stood with his arms crossed, yet he looked unusually excited. "I have to convince him to join the Borago boxing tournament!"

"I wouldn't suggest bringing that up." John sneered and shrugged.

Aiden grabbed his suit jacket from the ropes. He had reportedly fought six boxers without even breaking a sweat. Now, under the intense gaze of the crowd, he walked toward the door. John didn't run. Makao wisely stepped aside.

Aiden gestured for John to follow him, and catching sight of the items in John's hand, he asked to take a look. John didn't refuse. Aiden drew the blade and swung it to inspect the balance. "Nice gear, but carrying this out with your current arm is just asking for death."

John couldn't be bothered to engage him. "How did you find me?"

Aiden pointed at the surveillance cameras. "We had your apartment address. No one answered, so 'Tin Foil' checked your connections in the West District, intercepted a message, and figured you might come to the boxing gym."

"'Tin Foil'?"

"The hacker on my team."

"Damn, just now on the balcony... wait, no, the cameras couldn't capture my image. Can she bypass my external lens scrambler?"

"She can, but it wasn't necessary. Makao didn't have one installed, so we just pulled his footage instead."

By the time Aiden finished speaking, they had reached the parking lot. A familiar military-coated armored vehicle sat there, equipped with a top-tier engine that corporate combat divisions often used for their custom builds. Aiden sat in the passenger seat and said, "Head out of the city."

John opened the door, gripped the steering wheel, and only after pulling onto the main road did he ask about Aiden's motive.

"So, why are you looking for me?"

"I covered for you regarding the 'Nocturne' trouble, remember? I haven't been in the city lately, but as soon as I got back, several fixers were asking around, saying Haven Corp had a very active freelance contractor."

"Heh, I never said I was working for you."

"That’s what everyone else thinks."

"Are you angry? You said I could work for you."

"You’ve got a lot of nerve, and you’re quite the troublemaker. I checked on what you've been doing in the city lately—it’s alright, didn't offend me. So, come along and do some work for the company."

[Mission: Roadblock]
[Reward: Special Cybernetic]